


All the Ways I Know You -Redux

by Actual_Writing_Trashcan



Series: Colossus Hyperfixation Collection [26]
Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: (i don't think diabetes works that way but you get the point), Did I mention fluff?, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Illness, Mentions of Injuries, My first explicit fic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, You're Welcome, and with hardcore smut, but from piotr's pov, crossing so many milestones this year, enough fluff to give you diabetes, like last week's fic, mentions of abuse, read at your own fluffin risk, this is really just a fluffy fic, you get sick and piotr takes care of you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 12:50:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16723737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actual_Writing_Trashcan/pseuds/Actual_Writing_Trashcan
Summary: A series of snapshots from yours and Piotr's relationship -this time from Piotr's perspective!(Has tie-ins with "The Road is Long and Fraught with Pain" and "Breaking Through.")(All warnings in the tags.)





	All the Ways I Know You -Redux

In the weeks before his departure for America and Professor Xavier’s mansion, Piotr’s  _otets_  took it upon himself to educate his young son on how to properly treat a woman.

And, well, Piotr likes to think it’s served him well. Use your best manners, get the door and carry things for them, listen --really listen--when they’re talking and make sure you engage with them, don’t try to push anything further than they’re comfortable with...

Universal truths to making a relationship work that boiled down to treating your partner with respect. Piotr firmly believes in the idea, and he knows he’ll be teaching all of his children --regardless of gender--what his  _Papochka_  taught him.

However, he quickly realizes that, when he starts dating you, there might’ve been some things his dear father missed while educating him.

Then again, who could anticipate you?

 

* * *

 

 

“The greatest gift you can give someone is the space to be themselves, without the threat of you leaving.” --Anonymous.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Admittedly, this one didn’t come as a surprise to him.

Correction: this one didn’t come as a surprise to him  _after_  his conversation with Alyssa; she tells him to give you more space with your self care and to pay more attention to how you handle your trauma.

He knows where he messed up. He should’ve respected your autonomy and let you handle the journalling however you saw fit. He was too controlling; he isn’t too proud to admit it.

But the idea of leaving you alone? Of purposefully distancing himself from you?

It takes longer to get a grasp on that concept.

***

It’s worth noting: Piotr doesn’t consider himself a narcissist. He doesn’t think that you wouldn’t survive without him. He doesn’t think you need him to do everything for you. You’re strong, smart, and independent, three qualities that he truly admires in you. 

He’s just... used to you being an open book. It’s startling that there’s a part that you wouldn’t let him read.

No matter, though. It’s clear that you want space, and he's not going to fight you on that.

***

He does start paying more attention though, as per Alyssa’s suggestion. And, once he does, it’s easy to see why you need so much space in this area.

So much of your identity is wrapped in the belief that you’re a monster. A murderer. A wholly unlovable being that doesn’t deserve happiness.

And, yes, he can clearly see that your perceptions of yourself are wrong. You’re beautiful, generous, and kind; you deserve everything you want in life and more.

But so much of self care is focused on looking deep into one’s self and bringing it to the surface to be analyzed, pulled apart, and pondered over. And, for someone who, to quote you, “could barely look themselves in the mirror each morning,” that had to be deeply uncomfortable.

So, he gives you space. Lets you lock yourself away each night until you’ve finished whatever you need to do and waits with open arms and distractions when you join him in bed for the night. He never pushes you to talk about whatever you wrote about or meditated on that night, and he lets you talk about things at your choosing as much as you choose.

In hindsight, it should’ve been obvious that you’d be like this. You’re fiercely independent and always choose to do things on your own terms --even when it’s harder that way. He should’ve known that you’d do your self care and healing however you saw fit, no matter what it meant or looked like.

It’s something that makes him smile whenever he thinks of it. He’s always loved your spirit.

***

Slowly, you start to crawl out of your shell more. You start keeping your journal and your therapy homework at your desk in your shared room instead of the bag you take with you when you slink off to do your self care each night. Then, you start meditating in the room while he showers off each night.

It might seem ridiculous to some, but he’s happy to accommodate your unspoken needs for privacy. He quietly goes about his night routine while you go about yours, careful not to watch you too often --and if he spends a little extra time in the bathroom so you can finish your meditation undisturbed, it’s of no consequence to him.

You’re happy. You’re getting better.

That’s all that matters to him.

 

* * *

 

 

“Love begins by taking care of the closest ones --the ones at home.” --Mother Teresa.

 

* * *

 

 

You’re shivering under a pile of blankets, propped up against a mountain of pillows. Your face is deathly pale, save for your flushed cheeks, and your eyes are glassy.

Stuffy nose. Sore throat. Fever. Nausea and-slash-or vomiting.

All signs of a classic case of flu.

He can’t help the way he tuts, concerned, when he sees how sad and pathetic you look --but if his older brother, Mikhail, was here, he’d never hear the end of his teasing.  _My poor myshka_. “How are you feeling,  _dorogoy_?”

“Like shit,” you murmur in a weak, raspy voice.

He winces when you get hit by a vicious wave of coughing. “I’m so sorry,  _lyublyu_.” He sets the bowl of soup he’d been carrying --and a pack of crackers--on the tray table next to the bed. “Try and eat this.”

You wrinkle your nose at the soup and crackers. “No. I want Poptarts.”

His heart squeezes when you give him a particularly adorable, pathetic begging look.  _Hold strong, Piotr. She needs proper nutrition._  “ _Nyet, myshka_. You need to eat proper food. Besides, this is surprise I’ve been working on for past few days.”

You gasp softly and sit up more as your curiosity snags your focus. “Wait, is this  _borscht_?”

He can’t help but smile. Even when you’re sick, you’re so adorable that it makes his heart ache. “ _Da_. It’s my  _mamochka’s_  recipe. I think you’ll like it.” He helps you get the bowl situated in your lap so you don’t spill the soup all over yourself, then smiles softly to himself as he watches you try it.  _How is she this cute? How is it even possible?_

“Oh my gosh. This tastes like heaven.”

His smile grows. “ _Da_? You like it?”

“I love it. How hard is it to make?”

To do it properly? Not impossible, but it takes a lot of prep work. There’s a reason it’d taken three days to make.

But, if he’s making it for you? It’s worth whatever prep it takes if it helps you feel better and keeps you well fed.

“It can be complicated if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

You smile and actually wink at him --and he’s definitely going to call his mother and thank her profusely for sending him the recipe, because it’s the first time he’s seen any sort of glimpse of your usual cheeky personality in almost a week. “But you know what you’re doing, naturally. Probably helped your mom make this recipe when you were a little boy, back on the farm in Siberia, right?”

He grins back. “ _Konechno_. Where else would I have learned?”

“Uh, Pintrest? Like a normal person?”

He laughs softly and shakes his head. “Oh,  _myshka._  What am I going to do with you?”

You set the empty bowl on the tray table and give him a weak, albeit hopeful smile. “Get me some Poptarts? The s’mores kind? I’ve eaten some real food now.”

He’s weak for you. He’ll always be weak for you.

He smooths your hair away from your face and presses a soft kiss against your still too warm forehead. “I suppose,  _lyublyu_. You did eat all your soup, after all.”

 

* * *

 

 

“We can live without religion and meditation, but we cannot survive without human affection.” --Dalai Lama

 

* * *

 

 

It’s been a hell of a week. Between handling finals for the students, grading the final tests and essays, and the sudden slew of rescue missions that have had both of you going in opposite directions, the two of you have barely seen each other, much less spent any quality time together.

Piotr knows he’s feeling it at least as much as you are. He craves your presence as much as you crave his. The only difference is that he hides his displeasure with the situation better than you do.

You slight perma frown, the tension in your shoulders, and the underlying sharpness of your tone whenever you speak are all dead giveaways that you’re feeling strained and neglected.

Fortunately, he knows just how to remedy your sore mood --and, no, contrary to Wade’s suggestions, it doesn’t  _just_  involve ‘fucking you until your legs don’t work.’

Though, that likely will happen before the night is over.

He puts fresh bedding on your shared bed --the Egyptian cotton sheets that the two of you had gotten yourselves as self-awarded anniversary gifts and only used for special occasions--and tidies the clutter away in the room. He opens the windows, letting the cool spring night air in and sweeten the room. A quick search of your YouTube channel --there’s nothing but playlists on there, but he’s subscribed for moments exactly like this--leads him to your favorite videos of soft background noises. He picks one called ‘Soothing Summer Showers’ and sets it to play through the speakers Wade had installed --well, Wade had bought it and Nathan had installed it--as a gift for the two of you last year. Last things last, he finds your favorite set of pajamas and sets them on your desk in plain view.

Room ready, he focuses on himself next. He rinses off quickly, changes into his pajamas, and settles on the bed just as you open the door to the room.

It takes you thirty seconds to put together what he’s planned, and when you do you gasp, eagerly shut the door behind you, and change into your pajamas so fast that he barely has any time to brace himself for the incoming hug he knows he’s getting.

He chuckles as you dive into bed with him. “You seem happy.”

“You know I love snuggle time!” You wriggle around, quickly settling in next to him. You shudder as he rubs his hands up and down your back and let out a contented sigh. “This week has been  _horrible_. I’ve needed this.”

“I know.” He presses a soft kiss against your forehead. “We both have needed this.”

You let out a happy hum and wrap your arms around his neck. “I love you, Piotr. You’re the bestest boyfriend there is.”

He holds you closer, beyond happy to be able to hold you right now. “I love you too, Y/N.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Many are stubborn in pursuit of the path they have chosen, few in the pursuit of the goal.” -Friedrich Nietzsche.

 

* * *

 

“This is bullshit! The fuck do you mean I can’t go swimming?”

Piotr sighs and tries to stay patient as he explains what the doctor already told you. “You have cast. It will dissolve in water. There is no way to keep cast dry if you swim.”

He feels bad for you. Really, he does! 

You’d broken your arm right before a long awaited trip to a nearby water park, and now you weren’t able to go because of the cast.

He cross his arms over his chest when you pout up at him. “ _Myshka_ , no. You cannot go. You are already injured and would likely make your arm worse.”

“Says you! I’ve had plenty of broken bones before. I’ll be fine!”

“You’re staying here.” He watches you huff and storm off, knowing full well that this fight is far from over.

You’re too tenacious for that.

***

He finds you first in one of the side yards, trying to get the sleeve of your flight jacket over your cast.  _Bozhe moi, I am going to have my hands full today._  “Y/N.”

You jump and give him a sheepish look. “In my defense, you weren’t supposed to see this.”

He chuckles --you’re cute, even when you’re ‘misbehaving’--and shakes his head. “Back inside,  _myshka_. You’re not going anywhere today.”

“You know I can fly without the jacket, right?”

“ _Da_ ,” he says with a smile as he ushers you back inside. “Come. Let’s eat breakfast. I’ll even make pancakes.”

***

The next attempt comes not five minutes later, when you try to slip out the back door while he makes breakfast.

And again, five minutes after that.

And five minutes after that.

And--

Eventually, he figures out that you’re just trying to goad him into giving you a good reaction. Normally, he’d just smile and shake his head, but since you’re cooped up for the day without your friends he indulges you.

He chases you around the kitchen, growling playfully while you squeal in delight. You’re fast and nimble, but in the end his stride is just long enough to let him pin you against a wall. The way your chest arches towards him and your teeth fusses with your lower lip isn’t lost on him, and he opts to press his lips against your ear as he whispers huskily to you. “Now, how am I supposed to make food if you are distracting me? Hm?”

You shiver and let out a little moan. “Sounds like... a you problem.”

He smirks as an idea comes together in his head.  _Perhaps there is way to keep her attention after all_. “I know you are upset about missing out today. I am sad for you too. But, if you behave like good  _myshka_ , I promise to more than make up for it.”

“And how are you gonna do that?”

He presses a few kisses against your neck. “I think your imagination can fill in rest of blanks.”

“And what if I’m a bad  _myshka_? You gonna punish me?”

You’re goading him again, and he can’t resist it. He presses his body against yours, sandwiching you between the wall and his bulk, and nips at the shell of your ear before answering. “ _Da_.”

You gasp and cling to his shirt. “I think I might like that.”

“I doubt it. Last I checked, you hate being teased.” He smirks when you go still and gives you time to think it out; he knows he’ll get what he wants out of you, though. If there’s one thing he’s learned about you, it’s that you hate being teased.

You’re just too stubborn and impatient for it.

You look up at him, eyes wide and dark with want. “No teasing if I’m good.”

“Of course not.”

“I mean it, Piotr. If you back out--”

He gives your ass a firm squeeze with his hands, making you cut yourself off with a yelp. “Anything you want, as much as you want. Only if you are good.”

Your teeth tug at your lower lip again and you nod. “I’ll be good. Promise.”

“That’s my good  _myshka_.” He ducks his head to kiss each of your cheeks, then backs away and returns to making breakfast. “We still should eat, though.”

“Why wait?”

He glances over his shoulder and smirks at you as he mixes together the pancake batter. “I have feeling we will both need the energy.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Being a survivor of emotional abuse is fighting daily battles in your head with a person you no longer have contact with.” --Anonymous.

 

 

* * *

 

He steps out of the clinic room when Alyssa and the psychiatric specialist start their evaluations, citing not wanting to be in the way while they work.

And, well, that’s not a lie. He doesn’t want to interfere or throw off any of their work in any way, shape, or form. Ensuring your mental wellness and lucidity is too important to jeopardize.

He has another goal, though. Another reason behind his stepping out.

He leaves the clinic section of the mansion entirely and goes to your room, in search of the note you’d mentioned to him.

He finds it in the center of the room, presumably where you’d dropped it once your episode had started. He only needs to glance over it to wind up seeing red. He grits his teeth together and crumples the paper in his fist.  _How? How could a mother say such things about her own child?_

No matter. You’re never going to see this piece of paper again.

He’ll make sure of that.

“Russell.” He hands the crumpled ball of paper off to the younger mutant as calmly as he can. “Please take this outside and burn it --safely--on the drive.”

Russell grimaces as he scans over what little writing is still legible. “Fucking hell. Y/N’s mom sounds psychotic.”

“Language, Russell. Please. I will check to make sure there are no others.”

Russell nods and tucks the hateful note in his pocket. “Text me if you find any others. I’ll make sure they disappear.”

Piotr nods gratefully, then returns to his task of making sure there aren’t any other hidden reminders of your former life.

At times, he can barely fathom that you came from such a hateful home. Your kindness, humor, and generosity seemed almost unnatural in contrast to the life you’d been raised in; locked away in your room day after day, beaten and belittled for existing as you were, hunted by men carrying guns when you tried to escape...

His stomach churns, upset by the gruesome nature of your upbringing. He takes a deep breath to calm himself.  _Easy, Piotr. Now is not the time for getting worked up. You need to focus on task at hand_.

He knows he can’t fix you --you don’t need fixing either, you need  _healing_ , there’s a difference--but he wants to ease the pain you suffer however he can. He wants to hold you, to pour out love over you until every rough, ugly thing you’ve been taught to think about yourself is washed away, leaving only glowing, smooth joy behind.

It’s not an overnight process, but there were times he wishes it was --if only so that you wouldn’t have to suffer as much.

***

His search reveals three more notes --two more from your mother, and one from your town’s pastor that was so belligerent and ignorant that he had to take several moments to breathe to keep from punching a hole in the closet wall--all tucked away in various pockets and presumably forgotten afterwards. He hands them all off to Russell, then sets about preparing the room for your discharge.

The bed is carefully turned down and set up for a nap or some movie watching, should you not feel like sleeping. He collects a couple water bottles, basic painkillers, and a few of your favorite snacks as well. He finds your favorite pair of sweatpants and one of your favorite shirts of his to steal and sets them by the heat vent to warm them up.

No sooner than he carefully arranges the shirt and pants to make sure they’re both receiving equal amounts of heat, Nathan texts, letting him know you’re ready to be discharged.

He heads back to the clinic, satisfied with a job well done.

 

* * *

 

 

“I get off on you, getting off on me... It’s a give and take kind of love we make.” --from “ _I Get Off_ ” by Halestorm.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s not sure exactly how you keep talking him into situations like these. Maybe it’s the way you cock your head to the side and flash him that dazzling, pleading smile.

Or maybe it’s because you’d teased him to the snapping point for a good fifteen minutes.

That was probably it.

Either way, it would end with the two of you in the same spot --with him in the X-Jet cockpit seat and you on his lap, bouncing up and down on his cock while the jet flies on autopilot.

The cockpit itself has a door that separates it from the rest of the jet --and, conveniently, can be locked, which is the only reason he agreed to this in the first place. 

He’s not entirely sure  _why_  you’re hellbent on having sex in semi-public areas, but watching you writhe and squirm while you tried to stay quiet was more than making up for the lack of logic.

_That_  had been his other condition: no noise. Be as quiet as possible.

Normally, you let yourself get as loud as you pleased. Your room was soundproofed, and you enjoyed wailing and moaning as much as he enjoyed hearing it.

There’s something inexplicably hot about this, though. Something attractive in watch you ride him desperately while you stifle the noises coming out of your mouth.

Maybe it’s the challenge. A challenge for you to stay quiet, to quell your natural behavior, and a challenge for him to break you.

His grip on your hips tightens as you let out high-pitched whine that just barely treads over the line between ‘quiet’ and ‘starting to get too loud.’ “Careful,  _myshka_ ,” he murmurs in your ear. “Or we will have to stop.”

You let out a low huff of frustration and brace yourself against his knees, pushing back harder and faster.

He has an amazing view right now, he has to admit. 

Your shirt’s partially rucked up, damp with sweat and sticking to your skin, revealing the curves of your back and the soft line of your spine. Your hair is disheveled and messy, swaying and bouncing with each move you make.

Perhaps most appealing, however, is watching your bare ass smack back against his hips as you ride him, watching the way his cock disappears inside you over and over again.

He realizes your arms are shaking from exertion and moves his hands from your hips to your waist. “Do you need me to take over,  _dorogaya moya_?”

You let out a breathy whine and fall back against him, chest heaving as you pant and glistening slightly with sweat. “Please.”

He’s never been good at denying you.

He starts lifting you up and down the length of his cock, setting the pace as hard and fast as he dares; he knows you like it, and he’s close enough to his own climax that he doesn’t really want to slow down, but he also doesn’t want to make too much noise and tip off the rest of the X-Force as to what,  _exactly_ , the two of you are doing.

Your back arches as he slams you against his hips over and over, and your hands grip onto the armrests of the pilot’s seat. “Oh, fuck, Piotr--”

“ _Tische, myshka_.” He grits his teeth and bites back a groan as a wave of pleasure rolls through him. “You must be  _quiet_.”

You let out a quiet, frustrated whine and wiggle your hips against his. “More, more, moremoremore --please, Piotr, I’m so  _close_ \--”

He lets out a hard breath in place of a groan and picks up the pace. He can feel you tightening around his cock, feel that you’re getting so close to cumming, and  _bozhe moi I want to make her cum. I want her to feel so good_.

You’re writhing in his lap now, hands scrabbling for some sort of specific hold you can’t seem to find as your pleasure mounts. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, lips stretching into a perfect ‘o.’

He can’t take his eyes off of you, totally mesmerized as you fall apart. He loves seeing you like this, loves watching you fall apart, loves knowing that you’re feeling so incredibly good, knowing that you’re basically mindless with pleasure--

_Blyad, I’m going to_ \--

You tighten around him first, body going completely stiff and eyes rolling into the back of your head as you take your orgasm in near perfect silence.

He follows soon after, face pressed into the crook of your neck and arms wrapped around your waist as he grinds up into you.

The two of you sit for a while, panting from the effort of staying silent and screwing in such a confined area.

“I’ll be honest,” you say in a hoarse whisper. “I didn’t think you’d go for this.”

He laughs ruefully and kisses your cheek. “You should know by now there is not much I can deny you,  _myshka_.” He carefully lifts you off him, then ties off the spent condom and tucks it in one of his pockets (it’s gross,  _da_ , but it’s better than leaving it for someone else to find). He pulls a pack of tissues out of his other pocket and hands some of you before cleaning himself up. “I take it you enjoyed yourself.”

“Fuck yeah. We’re so doing this again.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, knowing full well that you’re right. “Perhaps.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Wait, really?”

He tucks his dirty tissues into the same pocket as the condom (he’s going to need to deep clean his pants before he wears this suit again) and smirks at you. “Are you surprised?”

“A little.”

He smiles and bends down, kissing your kiss swollen lips softly. “I may not be as adventurous as you,  _dorogoy_ , but there are... risky things I like.” He sits down for a moment, just long enough to land the jet, then stands again and kisses the top of your head. “Are you alright?”

“You just gave me one of the most mind-blowing orgasms of my life, and you’re asking me if I’m alright?”

“It is polite to check.”

“I’m fine. I need a shower now, but believe me when I say I’m doing  _fantastic_.”

He chuckles and gives you a brief hug before shifting back into his armor. He winks at you with grin. “Shall we head inside?”

You grin back. “And just think, they’ll be none the wiser.”

He shakes his head, amused by your confident spirit, and opens the door.

Wade’s voice crashes across the interior of the jet. “You two think you’re so subtle!”

Piotr sighs as you start arguing with the red-clad merc.  _Well, it was worth a try_.

 

* * *

 

 

“Growing old is mandatory, but growing up is optional.” --Walt Disney.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh my gosh, look! Swings!”

Piotr chuckles when you point at the set of playground swings. He still can’t believe that you don’t realize how unintentionally cute you are. “Would you like to go on them?”

You frown. “I don’t know. Are we allowed?”

The two of you are back in the park he took you to on the first date. It’s a wonderful, late summer’s evening, and the entire park is bathed in a dusky glow as the sun finishes setting.

Piotr glances around. There’s no one around aside from the two of you, and park isn’t technically closed yet. He takes one look at your wistful expression and decides then and there.  _She deserves to_. He tugs your hand and starts leading you towards the swings. “Come on.”

“Really?”

He flashes you a goofy grin. “No one is around to know we are ‘breaking rules.’”

You gasp dramatically and press your free hand against the side of your face. “The famous Piotr Rasputin,  _breaking rules_? Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?”

“Perhaps you are making rebel of me yet,  _myshka_.”

“Does this mean you’re going to let me eat Poptarts for breakfast from now on?”

He laughs. “ _Nyet._  Nice try,  _myshka_.”

“Dammit.”

He helps you figure out how to swing properly, then steps back once you manage to keep your momentum going on your own. He smiles softly, utterly endeared as he watches you giggle with glee.  _Bozhe moi, I am beyond in love_.

You tip yourself back as you move back and forth, squealing with delight as you pump your legs harder and harder. “This is awesome!”

_I wish I had my sketchpad and pencils. She looks beautiful like this. Dragotsennyy_.

God, he wants to marry you. It’s something the two of you have already discussed, and he knows that it’s definitely in the future once you have a better explanation for what causes your episodes and how to treat them best, but it just hits him in the chest during moments like these, moments where you’re unabashedly happy and your face glows with pure joy.

_I want to spend rest of my life with her_.

“Piotr, come on! It’s no fun on my own.”

He sits on the swing next to you --with no small effort, these are children’s swings and he’s a rather large man--and pushes off the ground, keeping himself to a tamer pace to keep from breaking the swing.

You, however, are utterly wild next to him. You’re going as fast and as high as the swing lets you, and your hair whips around as you shriek with delight.

It’s a beautiful sight to behold, really.

And then, you let go of the chains holding the swing to the frame and let yourself fly off at the apex of the next arc, flying into the air with grace and confidence. You use your powers to spin yourself around and land lightly on the ground, facing him with an expectant smile.

_Krasivaya_. “Very nicely done!”

Before he can get up, you’re back at the swing and pushing off again. “I think this is the most fun I’ve ever had!”

He lets you swing for as long as you want, even as the street lights turn on for the night and as the fireflies start floating into the sky. He doesn’t want to stop your fun, and he’s completely drawn in by your joy and spirit.  _Bozhe moi, I love her so much_.

Eventually, you come to a stop, shoes skidding against the ground to slow yourself down. You’re completely out of breath as you laugh, and you lean against one of the chains as you gasp for air. “I know we should go, but I honestly never want to stop doing this!”

He smiles and stands. “There are parks nearby mansion. I imagine you can swing as often as you want.”

Your eyes are practically sparkling when you look up at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun before.”

He can feel happiness welling up in his own chest, your mood is that infectious. “You were fun to watch.”

“Really?”

He puts his hands on your arms, steadying you as you wobble and stand. “ _Da_. I like watching you be happy.”

You smile sweetly up at him. “I’ve got good news for you, then.”

“ _Da_?”

“I’m happiest when I’m with you.”

He smiles back and bends down to kiss you. “I am happiest with you, also.”

Yeah, there’s a great deal he never could’ve anticipated about you.

But there’s something wonderful in that.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed this fic!
> 
> If you wouldn't mind, I'd appreciate some feedback on the smut section. I've had a few people (very politely) ask me if I'd write some, and while I don't hate how things came out, I'm definitely new enough to the smut scene that I have no idea if it's good or not.
> 
> So, yeah. Whatever feedback y'all are comfortable with leaving would be most appreciated! If you're not comfortable with that, no worries!
> 
> I hope you're having a great day/night!


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